


Substitute

by unsettled



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: Angst, Community: sherlockkink, Jail, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-01
Updated: 2010-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-10 08:19:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Pretend I am him," he tells Coward, who trembles, "For I will be pretending you are someone else as well."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Substitute

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for this kink meme prompt: _I want after movie times. With Holmes visiting Coward in prison and sex. "Quiet the guard may hear" sex!_

Holmes is finding his days barren without a certain doctor at his side, and he has taken to filling the time with reckless acts. He has read that Coward will hang soon, and he thinks it may be enlightening to visit him before he is just another corpse. They have given him the same cell as Blackwood, and strange symbols still etch the walls. There is no sinister whisper as he enters, and the other cells remain emptied. The guard leaves him, and it is very, very quiet.

Coward is huddled on the cot, his head resting on up drawn knees, and Holmes thinks he looks too young to hang. He glances up at Holmes' footsteps, and his eyes are pits of blue, are empty skies. Holmes takes his time cataloguing the facts, and his conclusions are interesting indeed.

"You seem intelligent," he states, and is rewarded with a flicker of surprise in those vivid eyes. "So what was it that drew you a madman like Blackwood, a madman destined to fall?" and Coward is on his feet at his words, his eyes blazing with wrath and loyalty. He is, for an instant, heart stoppingly beautiful. Holmes finds that very interesting.

"How can you possibly think to understand my lord?" Coward snaps out, drawing closer to the bars. "He was not as you and I, trapped by mortal minds. He was a chosen vessel, a recipient of the greatest honor. He was not a man to be judged. You all should have feared his wrath, bowed before his words and will." And he goes on, and on, and Holmes knows this kind of obsession, is busy noticing the passion that animates Coward. He is stunning in his righteousness; Holmes had noticed it in Parliament, but that he had hardly time to act then, and there had still been a chance that Watson might come around, might alter his decision to leave; but that hope was gone now. Coward is telling him that Blackwood will rise again, and Holmes interrupts with harsh facts.

"That might be difficult, seeing as his body was reduced to ash three days ago." And Coward goes an appalling shade of pale, and Holmes has the final clue. "You loved him, didn't you?"

Coward regards him with feverish eyes, then leans forward against the bars, inches separating them, and his voice is a broken thing. "He will rise again," he repeats, and whatever else he would have said is destroyed by Holmes, who settles his lips over Coward's, bars pressing into his face. Coward doesn't pull away, but responds fiercely, lust and anger and shame vying for supremacy. Even now, Holmes notices things, and he pulls back, flushed and heavy eyed.

"Pretend I am him," he tells Coward, who trembles, "For I will be pretending you are someone else as well," and tastes the curve of his jaw and the pulse of his neck; if he closed his eyes he could almost think it was Watson before him. He sucks on the hollow of his neck, and Coward lets loose a tiny gasp. Holmes glances up, and quiet as a breath, "Hush. You don't want the guards to hear."

Holmes falls before Coward, kneeling before him as he works the buttons of his pants, hands threading through the bars to pull Coward flush against them. Coward's cock springs forth, and his throat works as he clutches metal, struggling not to moan as Holmes takes him into his mouth; this could be Watson's cock, Holmes thinks as he swallows around it, its generous weight resting along his tongue. He is sure Watson's would be as exquisite, and his hands are busy learning the taunt skin between hipbones, the skin of a man he will never see again. Coward is shaking, and has brought one hand to his mouth to muffle his cries, teeth sinking into the pale flesh. Holmes wants it fast and filthy, and he is ruthless in pulling orgasm from Coward, his own hand barely brushing his cock, still encased in wool, before he comes, the bitter taste in his mouth a perfect compliment to the clenching of his body. Coward is clinging to the bars in an attempt to stay upright, his face is wet with tears. Holmes is startled once more by those eyes, and he knows why they draw him now; they are two shades off, but they could pass for Watson's.

"I might almost be sorry to see you hang after all," Holmes tells him, and stands as Coward's eyes widen. As he turns and leaves, Coward's hands loosen and he slides to the floor, still clutching the bars, and Holmes thinks that he would have made a fine Watson.


End file.
